In a 2019 interview with the pop culture media site, AV Club, Robert Eggers admits that when writing his second film, The Lighthouse (2019), he hadn’t intended any sort of social commentary. He explains that, “...with [The Lighthouse], I wasn’t like, ‘Now I’m going to write a movie about toxic masculinity.’” Arguably, he could have taken credit for this insightful analysis, but I can understand merely wanting to explore the premise of two men trapped in a lighthouse (it’s extremely cool).

It’s a common theme within literary and film analysis to argue in circles about the author’s intentions. Often, there’s the argument that the metaphorical analysis is too much of a reach. That the red dress is red because the author liked red, or that Moby Dick is just a white whale. But as queer readers and viewers know, the media can reflect reality in fascinating ways.

While Eggers touches upon the phallic imagery used in the film in the AV Club interview, I am going to utilize French critic Roland Barthes' concept of “The Death of the Author.” I would argue that The Lighthouse reflects how humanity is powerless against nature, especially the body against perilous weather or imposed sexuality on natural sexuality.

Upon my first viewing of The Lighthouse, I felt that exhilarating terror that every horror movie junkie craves when they step into the theater. The opening scene immediately bombards the audience with the sounds and motions of the open sea. A long shot of the fog is cut to a shot of the waves crashing into the bow of the boat at a deafening volume. I would even classify this transition as a jump scare. From the beginning of the film, we associate the sea with danger. It is unpredictable: it can be calm and foggy one moment and deadly another.

When considering this relationship between humanity and the forces of nature, I remember the philosophical concept of the Sublime. This was a common concept during the Romantic period as artists were connecting with nature in contrast to growing industrialization. This is the idea that the forces of nature arouse feelings of vastness, awe, and helplessness. The lighthouse, as a setting, is a place of total isolation wherein the lighthouse keepers are completely removed from society and its influence. Thus, away from modern society’s heteronormativity, toxic masculinity and homosexual desire clash in the two characters, Thomas and Thomas.

In the absence of any women during their job at the lighthouse, the two men struggle to maintain their heterosexuality, and thus they police hypermasculinity for each other. After some time together, Thomas Wake (played by Willam Defoe) tells Ephraim Winslow, eventually revealed as Thomas Howard (played by Robert Pattinson), that he should take on more physically demanding tasks.

Masculinity is often determined not only by merely being a man, but being a man who conforms to physical standards. From then on, we witness Thomas Howard’s struggle with his own masculinity. Thomas and Thomas engage in excessive drinking, furious masturbation aimed at a fictional feminine creature, and backbreaking physical labor. These are all in the effort of maintaining their hypermasculinity.

The scene that is most prominent in my mind, and probably in most people’s minds, is the Seagull Murder. Personally, especially as a horror moviegoer, the death of a fictional animal can hit me harder than watching a human character cut in half or stabbed repeatedly. I blame the inevitable desensitization that comes with too many gory slashers. That being said, watching Robert Pattinson violently beat a seagull to death left me stunned, especially after he was told that killing a gull brings bad luck. A curse is just asking for trouble.

Not only does this brutal beating serve as Howard’s attempt to regain control of the isolation he is subjected to, but it is a prime example of the reaction that is often had towards homosexuality. He has been orienting his sexual drive toward the wooden mermaid, while also in the company of Wake’s naked form. His confusion and frustration is at its peak by the time the one-eyed gull pesters him for the final time.

Now, part of this analysis I am going to credit to my partner, Mary. While she’s also a lover of horror films, The Lighthouse instilled in her a feeling of nausea and dread for the entirety of the movie. She hated the experience, but I think the film did exactly what it set out to do. Anyhow, in following with the film at this point, Howard’s intense rage mirrors the violent masturbation that aligns with common toxic male sexual expression. To put it simply, when Howard beats the seagull, it’s a metaphor for beating his meat.

The metaphor extends further since the seagull has one eye, and Howard’s vision of Wake’s former assistant also has one eye. Based on this connection, Howard is engaging in gay sex with the man that worked on the island before him. Not only will this solidify the curse that Wake warned Howard about, but it is a portent of the inevitable insanity that will befall him due to isolation and abundance of toxic masculinity. When Howard tries to fight against nature (human sexuality and homosexuality), nature shows him that repressing his sexual urges can have deadly consequences.

Another captivating scene is the unforgettably romantic, and stereotypically masculine, Drunk-Dancing-Almost Kiss-Fighting scene. Honestly, this was the moment I thought that Howard and Wake would give into the temptation that they had been struggling with. I can’t help but be mesmerized by the way that they grab at each other’s hands as they drunkenly jig around the lantern on the table (a small version of the enchanting light in the lighthouse). Watching these characters hopelessly thrash under the influence of the Sublime, I feel as equally confined and powerless.

Just as the dancing reaches its climax (pun intended), the intensity is replaced with a gentle, rocking embrace. It is a subversion of viewer’s expectation based on how their relationship has been portrayed thus far. But after a moment of longingly staring into each other’s eyes, leaning in with the intention of locking lips, Howard jerks Wake away. Sweaty and frantic, he is brought back to the reality of the situation, which is becoming increasingly more intimate and homoerotic. The fight that ensues is Howard’s deliberate attempt to gain control, much like the violence against the seagull. However, his efforts are futile against what nature has planned for him.

I did not expect this film to fully encourage homosexuality and express a sexual relationship between the two lighthouse keepers. Explicitly expressed gay relationships are still hard to come by, which is why I think the angst and terror surrounding homosexual tension are feelings that hit home for a lot of queer movie goers. Being gay is a whirlwind of emotions that can feel inescapable and oppressive, much like a stormy sea or the blistering sun. Our natural attraction often clashes with the rules and expectations of society, and while The Lighthouse can be interpreted in countless ways, I think it speaks to the oppression and isolation that those in the LGBT+ community feel.